


Ardent

by 784



Category: Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-25 02:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30082149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/784/pseuds/784
Summary: Him, her, and the love they are fighting for.[Prompt source.]
Relationships: Aless | Ares/Leen | Lene
Comments: 63
Kudos: 7





	1. Hope

He crosses his arms impatiently.

Before him lies an unrolled paper, bearing lines and vectors; completely annotated like a campaign map. He loses count how many times he has frowned—each time seems to be deeper than usual, followed with a sigh.

“The concrete mix for this part needs to be ready for tomorrow... I hope.”

He tilts his face upon hearing the sounds of curtain being drawn. It’s getting dark indeed—the sky has changed colors. Out of many things he likes about the apartment he lives in, that big quadrant window heading to the balcony is one of them. While Jugdral slowly ceases its activities for the night, but a different kind of life sparks in his apartment. His girlfriend has turned on the lights as she twirls around to close the windows, giving him a view of a well-lit love nest and the accentuated colors under the bulbs.

His mouth curves. Right—girlfriend. Lene Bragi, his lover of two years; the partner he’s been docking with for nearly a year. There has to be light in his eyes too as he watches her bright-colored sundress billowing around the cozy couch—magical just like the touches she bestows. He’s not the sole recipient of her care, sure; even if he doesn’t want to admit, the house looks more colorful thanks to her creativity.

“Ares,” Lene calls.

He hums. “The viscosity just doesn’t match. I’ll leave early tomorrow, hoping those engineering sophomores mixed the concrete well.”

“Yeah?” she tiptoes around him. He closes his eyes the moment she lands her hands over his shoulders, kneading them. “You’re so tense.”

“There’s also this earthquake test I need to do. Calculated manually last night since I forgot to charge the laptop.”

“I see,” she whispers. “I'm sure it will turn alright.”

“I do hope,” he puts down the paper to settle it on his lap. Lene turns around, settling herself beside him. Her favorite velvet pink cushion is on her lap too, and she cranes his neck to look at him.

“You’re frowning.”

 _“Fuck,”_ he mutters, whiping out the phone out of his pocket. “Lester? Yeah, it’s me. The calculation is a tad off. When did you start mixing? What? ... Let’s hope it doesn’t rain tonight then. Also—twentieth line, sector C; why don’t we make the hook thicker by two centimeters? Graph, please—email me. Thanks.”

He sighs. Lene looks at him.

“I hope that side of the building will still hold on by tomorrow. I think we need more asphalt for the foundation, but...” realizing she has been silent, he pulls her closer. “Pardon. Now you have me.”

“I’ve got a thought,” she remarks simply.

“I’m open,” he slides the paper to her. Lene’s soft smile blossoms once more, appreciating the way he includes her in every conversation... willing to introduce her in the field he specializes in. “Yes?”

“I think you should eat.”

She pinches his nose, but that smile—ah, brighter than the world itself.

(He surrenders.)


	2. Gratitude

She musters a polite smile at them.

The restaurant she is dining at is rather fancy—she has not seen anyone who comes in and out in t-shirts or jeans. There are only well-dressed people no matter where she looks, just like her very own crowd that evening.

When she received the invitation to be a guest speaker at an art conference last month, she couldn’t be any more ecstatic—the recognition she has been wanting of is there. How nice it is to be equal with other artists as she earns her slot to represent the world of dancing! Even better, the prestigous ladies at the conference invited her for the equally-prestigious dinner too.

“Can’t wait to see what summer brings to our fashion,” one of them says. Her emerald ring shines under the light, fingers gracefully twirling a cigar. “For this purpose, my husband and I will travel to Melgen.”

“This reminds me of the Orgahill cruise I attended,” another chimes in, in the middle of squeals and adorations of her peers. “It was splendid. Met the donors... the crew was superb. Vive l’art!”

Lene joins in, raising her glass for a toast. Her phone flashes.

 **Ares** **❤** **❤❤ [08:30 PM]  
** _Nanna reminded me to ask you about a stiletto pair. Asked her why she needs two daggers, got laughed at. What?_

“How about you?” one of those prestigious people nudges her.

“I’m doing a dance project,” she replies. “Preserving the folk art by giving the people who create it an upscale platform. Touring rural communities...”

“Sounds hard,” they sigh. “Aren’t you... afraid? Oh, don’t get me wrong—that’s a wonderful idea, yes; but those people are rather... uncouth, I must say.”

 **Ares** **❤** **❤❤ [08:40 PM]  
** _I got you an army pocket knife. Better than a stiletto._

“It’s wonderful, actually,” her eyes light up. “Those kids have big dreams and truly love their art despite the circumstances they’re in. If we would just...” she stops talking. There are smiles all around—polite and civil, but without being said, she knows she loses her audience. She ceases speaking too—graceful and subtle, the way a dancer delivers a finale towards the audience. “Sure, yes—the cruise?”

 _People are so dazzling. I feel out of place._ **[sent: 08:45 PM]**

“Sometimes you need to be the art itself. Can’t wait to splurge in Melgen!”

 **Ares** **❤** **❤❤ [08:45 PM]  
** _They don’t deserve you._

“And you, dear?” the attention shifts back at her.

 **Ares** **❤** **❤❤ [08:46 PM]  
** _I have BBQs._

“My boyfriend takes care of me very well,” her eyes light up.

“I can imagine. Young girls need security to enjoy the finer aspects in life. Is he a patron?”

 **Ares** **❤** **❤❤ [08:48 PM]  
**_I Googled. Stilettos... are shoes?_

“Pardon?” Lene frowns. “He’s a structural engineer—a friend’s cousin.”

“Oh, I mean...”

 _Hate this place ;-;_ **[sent: 08:49 PM]**

“Yes?!”

 **Ares** **❤** **❤❤ [08:50 PM]  
** _OTW._

“Are you upset?”

 _I’m so sorry making you drive:((_ **[sent: 08:50 PM]**

 **Ares** **❤** **❤❤ [08:51 PM]  
** _Shush :)_


	3. Determination

He drops everything the moment his alarm rings.

He has planned this carefully for the whole day, yet when time calls for him to execute the plan, it’s still making him nervous. When he leaves the sandbag to conclude his exercise for the evening, it feels as though he’s about to enter a match; something beyond belt rank test or a tough sparring session he has experienced so far.

“This is it,” he tells himself. “Let’s kick some ass.”

Just then he cracks his knuckles and throws his tracksuit jacket on the couch.

He imagines being thrown into a cage fight. The referee is staring at him—grim and somber, whilst his opponent is smug. There are basic rules to follow through, but the rest of it will be messy—and creative. How should he defeat this opponent? This is going to be the most daring moment for him ever since he completed unsu—bridging hands. At least with techniques and kata forms, there are layers he need to master; step by step to get to the top. Practice makes perfect, after all. While this...

His eyes squint. How does one beat an egg? Egg is too fragile, alright—he doesn’t even need power to do so. More than that—two eggs? Scratching his head, he runs back to the couch to smuggle the weapon to assist him—the laptop where he stores everything. Suddenly he’s a white belt again, following every instruction carefully, with a ton of imperfections here and there. There’s no time to waste—Lene keeps her arsenal in the cabinet, and he finds the much-needed treasure.

He grins. He’s got everything he needs at the ready. Now he’ll just need to mix everything up. He has mixed concrete before. He has supervised a session of pozzolan extraction before, so it’s not like he’s totally new at this—

He twirls the weapon effortlessly, feeling his confidence slowly returns. He’ll win this strange cage fight. Nunchucks consist of two sticks and primarily used in karate—if he’s not troubled with that, one single flail-like weapon should be okay.

... He blinks. He can’t believe it—the whisk broke! Scratching his head, he draws a fork. This is tiring, but to get a dan, one must complete the kyu, right?

So he whisks again. He raids his fridge like a relentless tiger, leg forming a perfect forty-five degree angle to hold it open because he’s busy preventing the laptop into going on sleep mode. More whisking! More mixing! More Googling of these names and things he is truly clueless about! Finally his opponent yields, and he wipes his sweat as he pushes _that bastard_ into the oven.

“I’m home~!”

He gulps. She crosses her arms, glaring because—what happened to their kitchen?! It’s beyond messy—there had to be a brawling here. Thankfully the _ding!_ sound he longs to hear saves him. Honesty is the best policy, so he takes out his creation, and...

“I... uh, baked you a cake.”


	4. Rain

She stretches her arm.

From across the table, her companion sniffs. Without being asked to, she opens her purse, snatching a pack of tissue out of it. “Take it,” she smiles, holding her companion’s hand. Sounds of thunder barging the air around them, followed by heavy drizzle afterwards. Some people say rain comes down because the universe is crying with the people it shelters. Probably true then—her companion is reduced into a sobbing mess with mascara trails staining her face.

“I can’t believe it,” the grieving woman sobs. “I trusted him, Lene. With all my soul.”

Lene squeezes the other woman’s hand which she clutches. The gesture is received warmly—for a moment, the other woman stops to wipe her eyes, thanking her. Lene shakes her head, giving her companion a comforting smile. “No need. Let it out...”

“He’s always had reasons,” her companion murmurs. “His car broke, he said. Work trip, his mother was sick... heartless monster!”

“He is,” Lene nods.

“I’m so stupid...” the other woman sniffs, but Lene touches her arm.

“You’re not. That isn’t your fault.”

“Can’t believe he cheated on me,” the other woman looks into a distance, probably reminiscing a past that is lost. “We need to be careful. Don’t trust a man so easily. You’re so sweet, I just... don’t want you to end up like me.”

They part ways afterwards. Lene looks down, finding her texts unreturned and her call unanswered. Ares promised to pick her up, knowing early spring weather can get unpredictable, as the TV said in the morning. Yet five texts and a call are met with silence, and the venting session she just had starts eating up her mind. How come Ares didn’t text? Why didn’t he answer his phone? It’s raining hard; the road is slippery—she is worried!

_Don’t trust a man so easily._

Lene ponders on her phone—

Sudden car-screeching sounds interrupt her. Before her very eyes, Ares exits the car, looking... drenched. He rolls his sleeves. His hair looks damp—his blazer isn’t worn, but clutched!

“Construction site took me longer because an intern needed guidance—an engineer chewed him out and that boy needed his semester credit. Then someone was looking for a lost kitten as I was halfway meeting you. Over there, the alley near the intersection,” he explains without being asked, moving his hand to point at a traffic light. “Then the rain came down. Tailed the owner because she feared for the kitten. We found it, thankfully. Then I saw an old man who couldn’t cross the street because cars kept coming, so...”

“You helped him,” she cuts in.

“... Well,” he scratches his head. “Only normal.”

Her lips quirk.

“Left the phone here,” he pointed at the blazer. “If I took this out, I wouldn’t have anything as your cover, so I thought... rather than answering, better reaching you faster.”

“... Ah.”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters meekly. “I should have—“

“Ssh,” she ticks his lips. “It's okay. I love you.”


	5. Coffee

“Everything is going as planned. Central Grannvale University is hiring me as an assistant professor. They also add more slot for me starting new academic year this spring. Lana will be busier than ever because she’s now officially a registered nurse. Challenging, but good for the purse. Folks, seems this year is it—we’re getting married.”

“Congratulations,” Ares replies. His tone is subdued and not roaring-happy like Leif’s, but there’s sincere warmth in every syllable he musters. His friends are unfazed by that modest display, though—having known him for a while, they know he’s not lying.

“You guys will be the first to get invited when everything’s ready,” Seliph replies, tone serene. Ares pats the blue-haired man _very_ sincerely on the back until the latter coughs. Seliph grins, though—that’s exactly how he knows he earns Ares’ blessing.

The three of them meet up for tea at a nice cafe. Having known each other for about a decade, their friendship survives college graduation, long-lasting into their twenties. Now three musketeers of a life on each own, they keep contact with each other, catching up every now and then for a hang-out and game nights. With Leif and Seliph being cousins and Leif dating Ares’ cousin Nanna, the bond between them deepens as time passes.

“Enough about me,” Seliph blushes. “You, Leif?”

“Right,” Ares smirks. “I think of Nanna as a sister. Break her heart, I break your neck...”

“Or perhaps things are getting better that you’ll get a younger brother someday?’ Leif smirks back, landing a karate chop over Ares’ head. The latter _stares._

“Fucking,” he sighs comically. “Not another brother. Someone adopts Diarmuid!”

“What about you, though?” Seliph nudges Ares while Leif insolently leans on his other arm. “You and Lene...”

“Can’t believe there’s a human woman cohabiting with you—and she loves it,” Leif chirps. “His house now has colors and he no longer farts in public. RIP our Ares.”

“Maybe he’s evolved into a better Ares,” Seliph responds. “The Ares above Ares.”

“I’m a lucky bastard,” Ares twitches his lips.

Their drinks come shortly afterwards, ceasing the merry banter among them. Leif gets his parfait and earl gray—a pretty unique combination which nobody cares to denounce because what Leif’s sweet tooth wants, Leif’s sweet tooth gets. Seliph orders a classic cheesecake slice with a cup of aromatic jasmine tea, but surprise doesn’t stop there because he picks up the tab for them all. Yet when Ares’ drink comes, the banter starts again.

“Apparently the old Ares is still alive,” Leif teases. “No sugar—just coffee!”

Ares glances down. His phone flashes.

**Her Majesty [07:30 PM]  
** _Can you pick up some ibuprofen for me on the way home? Horrible cramps >:(_

**Her Majesty [07:30 PM]  
** _Anyway, drive safely! :O_

“Let him be,” Seliph joins teasing... elegantly. “Sometimes, some things stay with you.”

Shrugging, Ares lifts his cup, savoring the coffee he ordered. “I’m good,” he flashes a raw grin. “There’s just enough sweetness at home.”


	6. Beginning

When the car runs into a red light, he rejoices.

That’s really a perfect opportunity to compose himself, which he didn’t do... or rather, hasn’t had the chance to do _properly_ since Lene dropped the news to him earlier that week. The lovely girlfriend said there was a client wanting to hire him to inspect a design, including calculating the estimation cost with all the suitable material the client intended to deliberate with him. The project is a renovated church. Small scale, per her explanation, with the client eager to meet up with him on-site for assessment. Nothing unusual, until...

“Name?” he asked her mid-shaving. However Lene appeared hesitant, and—

“It’s—Claud,” she mumbled. “... My dad.”

Ares thanked his _massive_ luck since his razor didn’t miss that night.

Yet the show must go on despite Ares’ pounding mind. Lene did talk about introducing him to her family _for real_ recently, and he knows that’s the milestone which notes they’re on the right path. He isn’t scared—he dates the daughter, he won’t shun her family.

Yet it would be lying to say his heart doesn’t throb.

Edda suburbs somehow evolves into a mysterious zone—it’s intimidating; a force of the unknown and his mind is slowly killing him. A long-haired blond man smiles at him as he approaches the modest church. “Reverend?” he clears his throat, tone respectful—and definitely not destroying Claud’s hand during the nervous handshake.

“Ares, right? Lene told me a lot about you.”

Claud is charismatic just like Ares’ father Eldigan. The unassuming friendliness puts Ares at ease, and he listens to Claud’s plan as the latter takes him touring the church. It really is a modest building, with the statue of Saint Maera being the most decorative element there. He absorbs what Claud tells him—he wants to replace some wooden planks with steel, apparently, because the building is old and the rooftop can no longer withstand heavy rainfall. Fixing the roof so abundant natural light can enter, minimizing the usage of lighting.

“You can advise me,” Claud says. “Speak freely—don’t hesitate.”

“Admittedly I’m not religious...” Ares scratches his head. “Onto the renovation though, Reverend—yes, we can try that. Expand the roof a bit, people won’t get rained at the door. If we use a different material, the door will be lighter and children can open it,” he marks the points with his hand. “With a layered foundation, it’s going to be warmer in winter.”

Claud smiles faintly. “Kindness is a virtue regardless of your spirituality. Actions speak louder than words—you have it.”

Ares pauses.

“Some people use this place as a shelter and I want to provide them that sanctuary—the way Maera and his followers assisted our predecessors,” Claud continues. “Thank you for understanding my vision—and accommodating it.”

“I’ll send you a scale sketch with estimation cost,” Ares says. “You’ll get the most out of your budget.”

“How about you bring that over coffee?” Claud pats his shoulder. “... Son?”


	7. Lightbulb

She turns off her tape recorder abruptly. Sweat drops crown her forehead and wet her nape that she throws a towel over herself, inhaling deeply whilst her hand snatches a water bottle. Dropping her weight onto the floor, she discerns the carpet she’s left... in frustration. Everything just doesn’t seem to be in-motion today. She has rewatched the moves she choreographed herself—many times—but when it’s time for rehearsal...

“Missed the mark,” she mumbles. The more she watches the newly-recorded clips, the more she wants to pull her hair out. “Wrong position. Need to jump higher.”

So she does everything again from the start. Counting to three, hopping, holding her hands up in the air, and...

Her face is red. The sounds of crashing chairs immediately summons Ares to the door... and shame immediately creeps on her. “I just missed a little bit,” she grumbles. Of course Ares isn’t just standing there. He peels her off the floor, seating her effortlessly on an intact chair as he dives to get the thrown ones. His questioning look prompts her head to hang in shame. “... Alright, maybe more than a bit...”

“Careful a little, these legs are precious,” he pats her. “Hurt?”

She shakes her head. “And your legs aren’t?”

“Probably. But being a martial artist, they will hurt regardless,” he replies. “A dancer, on the other hand...”

“Only the legs?” she pinches his nose, tempted to banter him. He captures that hand, however, smirking a bit.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, girlfriend—something else is more welcome.”

She slaps his back. He chuckles.

The rehearsal continues. Ares helps Lene gain the footing she isn’t sure of. He holds her waist as she tries to jump again. He claps his hands as the music plays to help her decide on a mark which will serve as a clue on stage. With smiles traded and laughter exchanged, Lene begins to find her rhythm again. Suddenly this doesn’t feel like a labor anymore. It’s fun to teach Ares how to sway an opponent... ahem, dance partner, and likewise, Ares teaches her how to plant stronger footing to help with her balance, based on fighting principles. They tumble and playfully wrestle on the floor until Ares regretfully leaves to make their dinner.

Lene is eager now. She does some stretching, replays the music, then hops. Strange—something is amiss. She loses what she reinvented before. She can’t find a rhythm. From the slightly-opened door she catches Ares running back and forth... wearing her pink apron, a sizzling skillet in his hand.

“How much is a pinch?” he asks. “How do I pinch salt? First, beaten eggs—why are recipes cryptic?”

Oh, no. Can’t ask him—he’s also busy!

Something in her kicks as _she_ does. Tumbling on a chair and nearly slams against two others is surely unpleasant. She yields when Ares jumps to the rescue again—

“I think,” she pants. “What I missed is—you.”

... He blushes. That skillet loses balance too.


	8. Stand

He glances at her.

His gut instinct tells him better not, but he can’t resist. Dear girlfriend, now leaning on his shoulder, hasn’t moved from that one particular photo she has been staring at, now decorating her phone for... what, two minutes straight?

He hears a heave. Perhaps time to intervene. They took the photo at a Leif’s work party which he took her to as his plus-one. Both his and Leif’s bosses are business associates, and the party made a perfect time to meet up contractors and architects he’ll be working with. Nothing could make it more perfect than the presence of his lovely girlfriend... right?

“I just noticed something,” Lene sighs. He simply sneaks his left arm around her waist. “This photo. You’re just—tall.”

He blinks.

“Look at me, though,” she nudges him, holding up her phone for him to see. “See...”

“I see a beauty, then there’s my cousin. What of it?”

She turns around. How easy it is to forget that Ares can say the darndest things with a straight face. Why, perhaps deadly strikes aren’t only the things he can execute perfectly. Now what, since her cheeks feel hot? “Nanna is gorgeous there, you know...”

“Does it matter? She’s not my girlfriend.” Ares shrugs. Lene pouts. The blush deepens—damn him.

“It’s just,” she whispers. “You look... unreachable.”

“Huh?”

But Lene refuses to say more, leaving him alone with his thoughts instead. Her demeanor is rather pensive afterwards so he’s reluctant to pursue—at least not now. Confused, Ares scratches his head. Was she offended? But he knows he didn’t lie—Lene was gorgeous at the party, and her finesse in socializing made her a genuine ballroom sweetheart. Besides, who is he to criticize her? Eloquence is never his forte! Nobody but his Lene can don a neon shade without looking like a midnight fastfood billboard, and there he was, in a typical black suit.

When he meets her again at the pantry, she flashes an apologetic smile at him. Their cabinet is half-open and he can see things scattered on the floor—cereal boxes, instant energy drinks, spice bags... yet she’s still silent, so he picks them up and stores everything back into the cabinet.

Meanwhile, she still glances upwards—

... And he smiles.

“What do you need?”

She gasps. He catches her mug before the poor thing meets the floor as well. With a low tone as though bowing in shame, she asks him to get her a box of cacao powder and her non-dairy creamer there. A bag of marshmallow, too...

He does just that. She thanks him.

“... It’s not about feeling less pretty than Nanna, you know,” a confession flies out of the mind that can no longer hold. “That will be ridiculous.”

“I see.”

“I’m short,” she sighs. “And you’re gorgeous.”

"Irrelevant, Lene.”

“What if I... can’t reach you?” she blurts. “I mean...”

“I can bend down,” he says. “... Or lift you up.”

Lift, he does—with an extra kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea-Lene duo unit portrait gave me ideas about Lene's height lol. Since Dorothea is canonically 170 cm (5'7"?), I imagine Lene stands <160 cm tall since she's pictured to be around Dorothea's ears. Many Ares group (fan) arts I've come across pictured him to be the tallest compared to Leif and Seliph, which is funny considering Oosawa's Eldigan is also the tallest of the group. So yeah, TLDR this sparks my 'tall emo boyfriend fiery short girlfriend' headcanon, but hey, it's not baseless, you know? xD


	9. Dreamscape

She smiles and waves at her audience. The lights around her are perfect—sparkling bright, accentuating her presence in a grand setting. With erupting hall and people vivaciously clapping their hands, the elegant stage truly fits to host a diva, and tonight she is such person.

"You _have_ to see people's expression when they shouted those bravos and encores! Surely you don't need us to tell you that, though—you know they _love_ you!"

She receives the praises with a smile. Dancing to preside a national event, inviting top press and media all over Jugdral? Definitely feels great. It isn't just the money; the moment she stepped onto the stage, she knew she was a fish who found her lake. And what's better than having a perpetual cheerleader by her side while doing this all?

Ares waves at her as her group makes a way. He drapes her cape over her shoulders, returning the purse he helped her with. Tonight he wisely doesn't smirk at the fact that Lene has left her killer heels at home, feeling more and more comfortable in her own skin despite the tall models who make up her group.

The banquet is grand too.

Mouth-watering dishes are arranged exquisitely on rounded tables, all at the guests' disposal. Various roasts, well-spiced treats, delicate desserts are within grasp and it doesn't take long for her to partake too.

"This chicken is spicy," Ares remarks. Waiters are lined diners samples so they can decide before queuing. "I think they have other variants there. Wait here."

He disappears. It's grown pretty quiet for her group; something she wonders why. When Ares gets back, however, he brings her more than just honey-roasted chicken—a selection of mini pudding of strawberry, matcha, and vanilla flavors... delicious chicken salad, stir-fried tofu, classic grilled sausages... and he holds her purse as she decides on a course.

Not chatty he might be, he answers all the things Lene's curious socialite friends ask him. "Two years older than her," he says. "Together for three years. I do structural engineering."

"So old school!" one of the models responds. "Delicate woman, pragmatic man..."

He chuckles. "For starters, I can't dance. Seems I'm the delicate one then."

"He dances," Lene teases. "With a sword."

"As a practitioner of a different art, I respect what I can't do myself," Ares purposefully musters a humble tone, earning Lene's soft pinch on his waist.

The dinner continues. Ares excuses himself to get the drinks and desserts, promising Lene a nice cup of gelato he caught in a passing. Lene leans closer when the models nudge her—

"How did you do it?" they whisper. "He's so caring. The cape? Usual. The purse, though. Then he stepped up his game. This food-serving made me feral!"

"And he's just—there. Not flaunting himself but also not... deprecating, you know what I mean? He's so... loving."

"Simple," Lene smiles. "We talk to each other and listen."

She squeezes his hand warmly when he gets back.


	10. Nightmares

He freezes.

Before him stands the opponent—confident and strong; an eyebrow raised followed with a giddy smile which speaks trouble. Something in him _screams_. He didn’t agree to this fight. He didn’t even know why he’s fighting, but there’s a peculiar sensation which barks orders, forcing him to _try_ holding his ground against this intimidating opponent. His mind runs in circles. Somehow something is telling him to yield. No matter how hard he tries, he will never win.

This is odd indeed.

There certainly _are_ great fighters out there, but feeling defeated even before he tastes a move is a no-no. Reclaiming his place in the arena means reclaiming his personhood regardless of the outcome, and he wonders why he’s scared.

It doesn’t help that the opponent is a solid rock. There are many ways to execute a kick. There are _varied_ ways to throw down an opponent. Yet somehow none of those truly matters—he finds himself on the ground, eyes blurry with sweat and blood while the opponent stands strong at his face.

“What’s the matter?” he asks. “Loser...”

He gasps. Yes, he doesn’t always win his matches. But to be a loser and to lose a fight are completely different things, and he begins to look around, finding a referee or whoever merciful enough to stop this baseless, brutal fight. Why is he here? Is the opponent out for murder?

“... Ares.”

He turns around, meeting his frail mother’s face... only that her expression spells disgust. She withdraws when he aims to reach her; desperate for an act of love in the middle of this hell. Yet as if this wicked punishment isn’t enough, what he sees is worse—his father takes a hold of his mother’s arm, ushering her away from him!

“Why...”

Dozens of monitors around him flash. They no longer broadcast this hellish match—rather, the camera panes into something different. The church of Saint Maera; his latest project for Lene’s father. He looks in horror when the earth rattles, shaking the humble building, turning roof tiles into debris. Underneath, worshipers yell at each other as they run out for safety, leaving Reverend Claud holding the doors open for everyone else, his expression aghast.

“Mad, loser?” his opponent taunts. “You’re a kitten—not a lion. A woman to come home to? Ahaha, oh, little cub. Who do you think you are?”

“Do _not_ touch her.”

“Maybe I should. A diva deserves better.”

“No. Lene—“

“Say goodbye, loser...”

“Lene!!”

He pants, drenched in sweat. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s in his own bed, and none of these are real. Lene is there, one hand clinging onto his own, eyes half-open. He must have yelled.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers.

“Nightmare. I screwed up. A loser, undeserving of you,” he murmurs. “It was so—real.”

She pauses. Without waiting for his reaction, she pulls him in, resting his head on her chest... wrapping him into a hug. “No,” she says. “This one is.”


	11. Pain

When Seliph calls her that evening, Lene thinks he’s joking. Yet there’s no soft chuckle or lighthearted joke as a follow up. Given Seliph’s good-natured personality, there’s so little possibility that he’s pranking her, either—Seliph isn’t much for prank humor... “Come again,” she repeats. “Ares is what?”

“He can’t move,” Seliph’s voice is clouded with... doubts. “We’re going to drive him to the hospital, but I suppose you’d want to come?”

Definitely. Lene ends her dancing class abruptly, cutting it twenty-minutes shorter. Doesn’t matter—she completely lost focus, anyway, resulting in her pupils’ mistakes ignored. Ares talked about hitting the gym with Seliph and Altena after work. It isn’t unusual—friends or no friends, that’s part of dear boyfriend’s routine thrice a week, with the remaining four days sees him keep his shape at home. Never in her life she’s glad that the bus everyone on this block typically curses is running wildly—she arrives faster... and treated to a worrying view.

Her Ares sprawls on the ground. Altena holds his under-calf while Seliph positions his hands under the blonde’s armpits to keep him steady. Dropping her purse, her hand flies over her mouth—worry aside, anger comes next! “Who did this?” she barks. “I want to fight too—“

“Small girls are fiery,” Altena interrupts. “Nobody. Mawashi-geri gone wrong. He dislocated his ankle.”

Lene blushes, but Ares pats her head... with a comforting smile. With Altena and Seliph’s help they load Ares into the car, bound for a waiting Lana at the emergency room. It feels like forever until Lana sends him out... in a cast.

“He’s strong,” Lana smiles at Lene. “But to recover, he needs to rest.”

“You worry too much. The best remedy is sl...” Ares gasps. Lene yanks his mullet, shooting him a glare. “... Slowing down,” he finishes with a gulp. Lene nods in satisfaction. Seliph salutes her.

“I need to go to work.”

“You can’t drive yet.”

“Why am I served like a kid?”

“Lana told you to rest?”

“She isn’t here.”

“But I am!” Lene chugs a pillow on Ares’ head. The next day hasn’t been easier for both of them. Ares already protested the moment Seliph and Altena helped him to get to bed. When the morning came, he _pouted_ —Lene woke up way earlier before he did, doing the chores he normally does around the house. Not only that, she brought his breakfast as well!

“I’m not helpless,” he remarks bitterly.

“Nobody said you are,” she responds... calm the tone might be, he knows she won’t hesitate to throw that pillow at his head again.

"Then what is this?” he points at everything Lene laid for him. “I’m a grown man.”

“You caught cold last week,” she crosses her arms. “You had a papercut when cooking. See, little grown man things. To answer your question, it’s called normal.”

“Hmph.”

“That’s how you know you’re alive,” she slides closer. “So be patient...”

His argument dies with that little peck on the cheek.


	12. Bliss

They sit together side-by-side. The couch is _very_ comfortable. Cushions and pillows are brought to make their living room more comfortable, as it already functions as the center of their small-but-pleasant house, anyway. There’s only one problem—the typically-pristine house is _messy._

Two empty juice cartons lay at the foot of their couch. Potato chip bags scatter over the coffee table which already hosts a teapot and two cups.There’s a stain of spilled dipping sauce just near the tissue box, but neither of them care enough to grab a ply to clean up. Cuddling under a warm blanket, both of them cherish this pillowfort and the continuous vintage black-white movie run on _his_ laptop.

... Alright, the external disk is hers, but it isn’t like he’s complaining. If not because of her, that laptop won’t be cultured.

“Welcome home—again,” she kisses his nose bridge.

“Welcome home as well,” he tips her chin.

It’s been hectic. He spent two days off work, compensating the absence by taking last weekend to go on a work trip. She wasn’t idle, either—chosen to couch a group of university thespians for an opera performance, she only hit the house to sleep. Too tired for anything, they decided to bundle together on a lazy Saturday... in the most literal manner possible. They ate leftover opera cake she took home and snacked on Orgahill delicacies he brought home from the trip. By now Lene has become very familiar of Ares’ habit—bringing home food as a souvenir instead of trinkets simply because he’s not great at shopping.

Marathoning vintage romance movies is something Ares never formulated as an idea to unwind. Diarmuid will laugh at him, perhaps—but then again it’s Diarmuid, and he knows he doesn’t care.

“The door,” she nudges him.

“Can you take it?” he replies, yawning. Who would have thought the art of doing nothing can be so good? They are both jellyfishes. And jellyfishes need to do what jellyfishes have to do—staying still and floating in the ocean, free from worldly concerns except food.

“We decide,” she taunts.

“Bring it on.”

“Arm-wrestling!”

He huffs. “You know I’ll lose.”

“Exactly~!”

Without protest, he answers the door. A package for Lene, from Nanna. Their elderly neighbor baked too many madeleins so he’s now sharing some with the neighbors left and right. He signs everything, bringing the package inside. Before closing the door, he thought he captured the neighbor’s stare towards... the interior of their house.

“Oh, it’s the book she spoke of getting me!” Lene welcomes the package in joy. “I’ve been reading this author! There was a signing session but I couldn’t attend. Then Nanna...”

He glances at her. And somehow the idea comes up—

“You both are close.”

“Feels like a sister I’ve never had,” she chuckles. “Jealous?”

“Spells like a family,” he shoots her a smirk. “If we...”

“What?” she blinks, but he treats her to a gentle laughter, suggesting them to just order fastfood for tonight... again.


	13. Prepare

She cracks a smile for the fifth time.

Oh, she doesn’t care. As long as her mirror still reflects her own face and not some unidentified are-you-even-human there. That aside, why must she be concerned? What lies ahead is even more concerning—and Ares is the harbinger of this all.

They were eating breakfast when her dear boyfriend excused himself to take a call. Around five minutes later, he was back; one hand in his pants pocket... except it was his boxers, which bore no pocket. Something made her lion nervous.

“My parents are visiting Aunt Sissi,” Ares said. Lachesis Nordion is Ares’ aunt and Nanna’s mother. Lene had no problem with it—if not for the next part! “... And they’re dropping by.”

According to Ares, Lachesis doesn’t live in Agustria like the Nordions. Instead, she and her husband chose the quiet Fiana as their primary residence despite their frequent trips to Leonster. It’s been a while since Ares’ mother Grahnye saw Lachesis, and...

“Definitely important,” Lene opines.

“No doubt. I won’t pry, though.” Ares replies. “Sorry for the sudden bomb, but I figured they could rest here for a moment...”

His voice trails. Lene reassures Ares she can handle it. Even if she cannot, she knows she needs to compromise—Ares’ mother is frail and she needs a good recharge for a long trip. Ares wouldn’t speak in such tone if he wasn’t nervous!

“Sorry for hoarding the bathroom,” she mutters sheepishly. “I was practicing my smile.”

Her line tickled the lion cub more than she expected because Ares smiles. His demeanor loosens too as he says she has nothing to be worried about because his parents have been wanting to see her just as much. Wisely letting her doubts unspoken, Lene drowns her face with a pillow while Ares does his business—a parent, she can try. But his mother too?

Everything is ready when the bell rings. Lene stands face-to-face with a serene-but-dazzling couple; elegant and charismatic. Her nervousness melts by half when Eldigan Nordion pats her hand as they shake hands. Grahnye Nordion, on the other hand, shows _less_ reserved reaction because she squeezes Lene’s arms, meeting her cheeks with her own.

Lene wishes she could kick Ares before dear boyfriend went out—yet there she is, face-to-face with the Nordions while Ares rushes to check on his parents’ car. She can’t believe it—Eldigan drives vintage! “Nice to see you,” she squeaks. “Eh—Sir. Ma’am.”

“Oh, it’s alright! We’re the guest after all,” Grahnye reassures her. Eldigan darts a glance around the house with a hum.

“I hope my son didn’t...”

“Oh, no! He actually cleaned most of these,” Lene blurts out of reflex. “Ares is very sweet. He’s also soft and easy to please. I’m only hoping...” she stops talking instantly, realizing the Nordions... smile.

“Soft?” Grahnye repeats, surprised. “If you don’t mind speaking more, my child—“ now _she_ gasps, realizing the endearment she addressed Lene with. But Eldigan nods, chuckling seamlessly.

“No objection.”


	14. Wander

He wonders what’s wrong.

Something definitely has changed since his parents’ visit to their love nest and he can’t make up what it is. At work, his computer runs vector lines just like Lester’s who sits in the cubicle next to him, but there’s definitely more than what’s seen because he can’t sit still; this, he figures, after changing positions for three times like a model’s photoshoot sequence...

“I need the pavement part.”

Ares bumps against his own desk. Lester frowns.

“Shit. Sorry about that, my numbers won’t run correctly,” now Ares frowns too.

“You misplaced the asphalt thickness and base layer thickness. See, the (ta) and (tb). No coefficient; the (b1) is empty. Won’t happen,” Lester grins. “Something on your mind?”

Ares frowns deeper. No wonder everything is a minus. Oh, boy—that’s a contrast to what he has in mind, because there’s a lot. He should be happy since his parents’ visit was a success. Not commenting doesn’t equal to being unaware, but there’s no mistake—his parents talked to Lene more than him. Perhaps it’s simply because that was the first time for them to truly talk, but he’s been in a daze ever since. First, his mother traded a pudding recipe with Lene! Then the usually-reserved Eldigan went on and on about his favorite opera performances, where Lene replied she had met some of the dancers. His parents practically kicked him out of the conversation, and...

“And you hate it?”

Lester’s voice grabs him back to the real world.

“That’s the thing,” Ares ruffles his mane. “I don’t. Not at all.”

Lester whistles. Ares huffs.

“I tell you what,” Lester drives his wheeled chair just so he can put Ares on a friendly arm-lock. “You’re in love.”

Ares _stares_ at him. “I _do_ love my parents, Sir Obvious. And definitely Lene too—otherwise why would I be dating her at all? It’s been three years.”

“I mean you’re in love-in love,” Lester laughs. “Let me get this straight. Your parents loved your girlfriend and she enjoyed _talking_ to them? Dumbass, you hit jackpot.”

Those words affect him more than he predicted. He revisits the lazy weekend he spent with Lene, remembering how warm it felt knowing she and Nanna got along well. Something in him rejoiced seeing how lively his mother was when chatting up Lene—it’s not like he doesn’t know his mother is civil with Aunt Sissi, but beyond that? Hard to tell. It’s like Grahnye found a friend in his girlfriend!

**Her Majesty [5:00 PM]**  
_It’s children’s day today at the theater so I’m probs gonna be late, don’t forget to eat! XX_

He glances at his computer. Grahnye emailed him more recipes, prompting him to make another frown. Isn’t his mother quite protective of her recipes?

_I understand, kids can be a handful._ **[sent: 5:02 PM]**

**Her Majesty [5:05 PM]**  
_Perhaps, but I love this ^^ you’re more worrying though >:(_

Ares pauses—

“... Lester, ever thought of wanting to get married?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah the prompt is wander but I thought eh what if we make Ares revisit the past time he had with his parents and Lene a bit. So... there's a wander, then a wonder. //kicked
> 
> I'm using the formula for (pavement) structural number. Basically it's the equation needed to determine how the pavement should be built so it can withstand traffic load, so it needs the thickness of material used to construct it, like asphalt, as a determinant to calculate how strong the pavement has to be (CMIIW xD)


	15. Adventure

He sits as still as the night.

Before him, the stage lights up spectacularly. People in colorful costumes line up in a perfectly-aligned formation. That isn’t the only takeaway of the whole performance, however—they twirl, swirl, throwing up their hands in the air. They move their legs harmoniously, prompting the costumes they wear to gracefully billow on stage. Suddenly, everything stops. All the performers stand still, solemnly maintaining the trained pose under the blinding lights.

“Bravo!” he hears his own father shouting. The older Nordion is clapping sincerely, joining many others coloring the hall with praises thrown towards the stage. The green-haired woman who sits beside his father tilts a bit, fixing her daring ruby-red coat.

“I didn’t know you’re an honorary member of the committee.”

His father makes a faint chuckle. “I’d like to keep it that way, but I suppose nobody can escape the brilliant observation of the Rose of the Battlefield.”

“Pssaw. That’s quite the past—its time to let the younger generation shine,” the green-haired woman waves her hand, blushing a little because of the alias she’s addressed with. “This performance wouldn’t happen if you didn’t rally the donors. Thank you, Eldigan.”

“What is art, if not to uplift the spirit of citizenry? No need, Silvia. It’s nice to give back.”

He ruffles his fringes, concealing a yawn... and quickly shifts his demeanor to be solemn like an art critic when dear girlfriend pinches his thigh. Crossing his arms, he clears his throat—his father looks disappointed while Silvia, Lene’s mother, seems to... understand.

What an unknown world he finds himself roped into.

Revenge or not, Lene gave him an exclusive invitation in an envelope—a chance to watch _The Last Holy War_ opera at the VIP seat! She asked if he knew his father was part of Jugdral’s most-sophisticated art club. He didn’t, but the surprise didn’t end there—Lene’s mother would be there too as a distinguished guest! The night before the performance, he busied himself with Google. He knew the story—the sword fights are pretty cool, but beyond that, no—not even the stars’ names!

“Look at you, in a suit~!” she teased, helping him smooth out the wrinkles. He sighed.

“What a curious armor. Where’s my weapon?”

Lene shoves the program booklet into his grip.

But Silvia Bragi won’t be a memorable star without reason, and she guides him traversing this new world; sans formalities which helps him adapt easier. Her explanation is easy to follow as she gladly repeats what he doesn’t understand. When the curtain is down, however, she signals him to hover, stealing a chance now that Lene is engaged by Eldigan.

“What do you think?”

“Lene is a brave woman with an indomitable spirit and I respect her for that,” Ares smiles a bit, nodding at the girlfriend who is busy trading genuine laughter with his own father.

“... I mean the performance, but I suppose that works too,” Silvia mutters, cackling... as Ares’ face turns red.


	16. Escape

She stretches her body, making a perfect standing position on the stage. There are three flower bouquets in her hands, and she knows she will receive more—she has laid the other three at her feet, anyway, just at the edge of the stage, given during two intermezzo times.

The children she coached the other day turns out to be a success. They came to her for guidance, and she proposed an unlikely idea which few touched so far—Swan Lake, but make it a fun musical instead of the usual dramatic ballet, and make it funny.

The children loved the idea just as much. Tickets were purchased, seats were easily filled with only a few vacant. She took part of the performance by filling the introductory scene, which served as an opening when performers lined up in costume, making a couple of moves to greet the audience based on their order of appearance.

The stage erupted just as grand when the last kid left the stage to disappear behind the curtains. The stage is already bathed in thrown single roses before she comes up to close everything for the night, and... ah, needless to say stage assistants and guards makes repeated trips to receive trinkets from the seats.

“Thank you!” she clasps her hands in front of her. Her smile glitters under the bright lights as she takes her rightful place. The kids surround her; their faces wearing a smile. Some look proud. Some other are shy. But there’s no doubt that they win this night. Some local reporters even take their pictures and clips closely!

“What motivated you to take such a daring approach?” a reporter asks her. She hasn’t had time to breathe—the crowd keeps following even after she descends.

“To let children be children as they embrace the artists in them~!” she states. “There’s a difference between nurturing a child’s talent than clipping their wings into the shape _we_ want. Art isn’t supposed to make you declare war against yourself—it should liberate you.”

She rushes towards the backstage. Her eyes light up upon finding Ares there, dressed casually contrasting the grand place. He dons classic blue jeans, layering his gray shirt with a black leather jacket. Ragged and rustic, straight from a construction site which doesn’t care for formal styles as he likes it to be.

“You’re amazing,” he remarks simply. He isn’t forgetting his tribute, either—that large-cup classic boba tea is going to soothe his tired girlfriend.

“Thank you,” her reply is soft, noticing his hands are full... literally, with the trinkets gifted to her including her purse and cardigan.

"Go greet your admirers.” Again, he doesn’t protest when reporters and fans alike call out her name. It’s spectacular and loud. Understanding the perks which follow her profession, he knows how intense some of her best nights can be.

She glances back and forth. After ensuring nobody is around, she _jumps_ into his arms—

“But you’re my darling VIP.”

She kisses him.


	17. Outbreak

“I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

That was thirty minutes ago, and he can’t be anymore _angrier_ than that. His hands tightly clasping the steering wheel, knuckles-white... alright, almost, because he has been there for forty minutes, sitting rigidly with clenched jaw. If only he knew driving at this hour would be horrible! The traffic is a massive asshole, and other drivers and riders around him are getting impatient. Road rage feels so real at this rate, and he feel his blood pressure rising when yet another dumbass honks loudly, thinking that will magically change the road.

He’s frustrated.

Work is tight. The current project is colossal and he starts losing whatever regular hours is. Somehow disaster always waits on-site at the last minute—someone forgot to check the cement! Someone forgot to bring in the sand bags and now they’re drenched, making the plastering process difficult. Someone still got a set of plywood despite his insistence of _not_ using them until they can see a solid cavity to start building the interior. The odd hours put him at odds with Lene... whose fame rockets after the successful Swan Lake she organized. If people asked him what dating Agustria’s most-sought dancing mentor is like, he’ll simply say tiring. Not about her, but their situation!

“Ares...~” he recalls her crooning him, cat-eyed smiling as she climbed on him. Drifting away, he could hear her comment next. “Are you asleep already?!”

Probably, since he didn’t respond.

“Are the eggs alright?”

“Beautiful.”

“And how do I look?”

“Delicious.”

She left for work in a huff. He realized he was looking at the wrong things.

“Feels like you didn’t care,” she confessed later on. “As though I’m the only one trying.”

Oh, no. Dear girlfriend is dead wrong about that. Actually, he’s out to right what is wrong— _today_ —exactly why he’s sandwiched in the traffic! Lester gave him an opinion after the reverse-equation incident. Seliph—whom he called _shyly_ when Lene was asleep—was more than willing to spare him thoughts. Nanna cheered for him, and Diarmuid choked on his cola when he video-called them both.

“My brother has grown up!” Diarmuid remarked... teary-eyed, cola-snotted. Ares threatened to hang up. Nanna asked if she could murder Diarmuid. Ares refused the assistance—he needed more counsel. Regarding a ring, for example.

_HONK!_

His eyebrow twitches.

 **Her Majesty [8:30 PM]  
** _It’s getting dark!_

... Those eyebrows dive eagle-style now.

_HONK—_

Breathing in, he rolls down his window. The other driver glares back. “You do that again,” he states _calmly,_ “I’ll send you out in a stretcher.”

The other driver pales. He doesn’t care—no more stupid airhorns. It truly is dark by the time he parks at the theater. Lene is there, looking utterly displeased... and an argument explodes next.

“You _don’t_ care.”

“Fuck—I’ve never shopped for a ring before—” he glares back... only to have his voice lose its weight next.

She _stares_ —

“Eh,” scratching his head, he kneels. “Wanna get married?”


	18. Calendar

He sits cross-legged on the carpet while she reclines comfortably on the couch. They don’t let their laptop rest that day, and likewise, their notebook isn’t empty. It’s full of handwritten notes, correction remarks, even straight-up crossed words and dates... for the latter part especially, they’re enlisting Ares’ desk calendar which he stole away from work.

“Melgen is artsy,” she says, massaging her temples. This is harder than it looks, and if she can scream, _holy shit—_ she’s been playing date-puzzle for hours with him without any resolution in sight. “But it’s also expensive.”

“You like it,” he comments simply. “And I can afford that.”

Something jabs her in the heart. “Too much money just for a honeymoon...”

“You are never too much.”

She hums. “You’re not really into places like that, though.”

“Yes, but you are.”

“Ares,” she stops his busy hand from writing. “This is a wedding—there is no me or you; it’s us.”

He pauses.

“You’re wonderful,” she giggles. “But if I’m going to share my life with you, that also includes all the parties and honeymoon. If you want, perhaps secluded Fiana so you won’t feel overwhelmed...”

“Where Aunt Sissi lives?” he frowns. “The area is _very_ nice, but you’re a people-person."

“Mm-hmm. But I’ll be a Mrs. Nordion-person by then,” she grins, prompting him to blush a bit. “A fulfilling recharge will benefit me too so I can return to the stage like a well-oiled machine~! You said the region is very nice—perhaps I’ll like it!”

“Maybe we can visit to decide,” Ares says. “This date?”

“Let’s mark that and start from there~!” she nods. “Perhaps the sooner the better if we’re going to rent a room...” she averts her eyes. Why, somehow she feels shy. They’re going to get married. She’s going to be a Nordion in a few months!

“Alright. Then the guests,” Ares drops his notebook for her to see. “Our friends, definitely. Seliph and Lana, Leif and Nanna. Diarmuid and Patty. Altena—I don’t know if she’s got a plus-one. Lester from my job and his boyfriend Febail. Jeanne and Tristan—”

“Jeanne volunteered at that pet clinic to get your number,” Lene scoffs. “Fee and Arthur! Ishtar and Julius. You forgot Julia and Ulster. Larcei with Iuchar and Iucharba. Ced and Tine...”

“Iuchar wooed you,” Ares counters.

“That’s just how he is!”

“So Iuchar sending you roses is fine and Jeanne can’t contact me?”

“... That’s different, Mr. Nordion. He does that to _everyone_.”

“My number, my prerogative, Mrs. Nordion—“ he stops talking at an instant. The reflexive quip colors his cheeks red... and so does hers. _Nordion._ This is happening. “... I’ve never been involved like that with her.”

“Likewise, me with Iuchar,” she murmurs.

“... Apologies as well. That was dumb of me,” he sighs. “I wanted to, but I know jackshit about flowers. Tried once, the florist said I got a funeral bouquet.”

That really unbridles her chuckles. “Let’s continue,” she hugs him. “... Where were we, Ares, darling fiance?”


	19. Ending

They walk together hand-in-hand.

Ares brought the car to the repair shop just last night, which she secretly adored very much. Lene knows her fiance is pretty confident in his mechanics—after all that car is years-old, and Ares took care of it diligently. However his choice to listen to her makes up the most endearing part of it all—now that their trip to Fiana is around the corner, Ares wants a perfect preparation.

They’ve had a long talk about this the night before he drove the car off to the shop. The trip to Fiana is going to be rather solemn—soul-searching, reaffirming their commitment to each other. It’s been quite a nervous choice, to schedule a trip to Fiana just like that without knowing where exactly is they are going to dock besides dropping by at Lachesis’ for lunch and probably dinner. Lene might be laid-back, but she’s also work-driven and schedule-adherence. Ares... now she wants to smile. What engineer doesn’t want a clear schedule and technicalities besides a wait-and-see reply?

Yet they are doing this. Tomorrow they’re going to pick up the car, fill in the tank, stock their supplies including some gift for Lachesis... right, ‘Aunt Sissi’ for her too now, after that zoom session which Ares arranged so they could just talk to both of their families. Eldigan _begged_ Ares to wear something else that isn’t black. Uncle Finn—Aunt Sissi’s husband—told Nanna to accompany her shopping bridal tidbits. Silvia stated she could send hotel brochures. Grahnye talked about the catering service she could do with a finger-snap.

Golden hour sunshine appears brightly when they meet each other at the station. The hues are of similar color of his hair while the light is reflected in her eyes. He simply offers his hand to her, which she takes; also solemnly, without words traded between them as they walk, enjoying loud train signals and all the background noises behind them.

“Diarmuid made me try out a _white_ suit,” Ares speaks after a while.

“And he’s still alive. Aren’t you very patient?” Lene teases. “Nanna, she... let’s say I found the dress.”

There’s silence yet again, but Ares brushes his thumb against her hand—tender yet comforting; which translates perfectly to her. He yearns for the day to come and longs to see her in that dress. When they arrive, the church of Saint Maera is colored by children’s laughter. Lene snuggles towards Ares, humming pleasantly—the construction went well. Ares pushes the chapel door. Serenity envelopes them.

“... Papa,” Lene whispers. Reverend Claud turns around. She drops to her knees and takes his hand. Ares bows and follows suit, earning the reverend’s tender laughter.

“You already have my blessing. Please take good care of my daughter.”

“With all my life,” Ares replies. He lets Claud hug them. Together with Lene he attends the service, waiting until everything is done. “Reverend, would you dine with us?” he inhales. “... And we’d like to be married here too.”


	20. Backwards

“Oooh, look at that. They looked so cute there!”

“Ahaha, the passion is there, but being a parent, you’d want your children not to rush. The world is vast. Some children change interest every five seconds,” Silvia Bragi smiles, shifting the photo album so that Grahnye Nordion can see better. “Lene danced. And Coirpre...”

“Mooom,” another voice interrupts. “That charity night is a millennium ago.”

“Now Coirpre is in college,” Silvia chuckles. “And now he’s a big boy.”

Coirpre scratches his head. Facing him, his sister is seated with her fiance, who is kind enough to spare him a sympathetic look—he knows how embarrassing it can get... as well as aware his turn is next. “I’m glad I’m home for spring break so I can help you,” Coirpre pats Lene’s hand. “I can’t believe it—I left for school, you bagged home a giant.”

“Oh, dear. Ares was a timid boy,” Grahnye intrudes, pressing the back of her hand over her lips. “Then he just kept growing...”

 _“... Mother dearest,”_ Ares groans. Coirpre blasts a finger-gun at him, but Grahnye is relentless. Stories of his childhood flows out of her, taking the Bragis to traverse the valleys of memories with her. Fondly, she recalls everything—Ares used to be timid, she says; hiding behind her skirt whilst adoring Papa Nordion from afar. Eldigan, aware that he only has one son and a single child to cherish, decided to build up his cub, thus starting the sandbag days in and out a gym.

“He used to be this tall...” Grahnye recalls fondly, perching her hand by her hips. “But now you’ve grown to be a man on your own, and are getting married.”

“Awwh,” Silvia blurts. “Like my little girl here. Don’t forget your dear old mother.”

“Of course I won’t!” Lene chides... but her eyes are getting blurry too. They intended to discuss about the catering and Fiana’s resorts. Silvia’s connection with the entertainment world opens dozen possibilities including airfare comparisons—thanks to her experiences—but Grahnye being there is beyond Ares’ knowledge. If Silvia didn’t know Eldigan has been being an art patron for a while, the lovebirds are at loss that their mothers are colleagues!

“Maybe I can drop by if Mom is doing this again,” Coirpre chirps. “Because—you know, maybe you can tutor me in calculus— _brother_?”

Ares pauses.

“W-was it too much?” Coirpre squeaks. “I’m _so_ sorry—“

“... No,” Ares replies. “It’s just. I didn’t have a brother-brother...”

“Now you do,” Silvia cuts in, smiling. “Welcome to our family.”

“And you too, dear,” Grahnye grabs Lene to kiss her cheeks. “Now I have a daughter.”

They unwind while Coirpre sets the table for dinner. Ares breathes in. The air at the porch is cool, and Lene’s fingertips are latched onto his own. Nothing can be better—

“Overwhelmed?” she squeezes his hand.

“Surprised,” he replies. “... But I feel warm.”

She smiles. He bends down to search her lips. Nice appetizer; they are ready for the future now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad to be able to finish this (quickly too xD). Thank you very much, Arerin side of Ao3! I like them for many reasons and it's been really nice to be able to rekindle my love towards this ship as well as writing fics in general. Again, thank you for reading these pieces. I may not say much, but I read every single comment and appreciate ALL of them :"D


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